


You Have Not Experienced A Christmas Carol Until You Have Read It In The Original Ferengi

by sophiegaladheon



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: (but nothing too scary), M/M, Nightmares, Nineteenth Century British Literature
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 17:59:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9336188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophiegaladheon/pseuds/sophiegaladheon
Summary: Chief O'Brien and Dr. Bashir explain the plot of Julian's new holosuite program to Quark.  Somewhat unsettled by the conversation, Quark finds himself going to talk to Odo in the middle of the night.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for @former-cardassian-opressor as part of the 2016 Star Trek Secret Santa gift exchange on tumblr.

“Don’t you at least want to try it Miles?” asked Doctor Bashir.

“Well, sure I do, it’s just that, well, isn’t it more of a one-person-at-a-time type of program?” said the chief. The two men reached the bar and slid onto the stools.

“What seems to be the problem gentlemen? Quark asked. He put down the glass he was polishing and leaned across the bar towards them.

“It’s this new holosuite program of Julian’s,” said O’Brien, “It’s not really designed for more than one person.” 

“Oh, I see,” said Quark leaning back, “It needs a more intimate setting.”

“No, Quark,” said Doctor Bashir, “It’s nothing like that. It’s a holonovel my friend Felix made for me based on a classic of earth literature.”

“Oh really.”

“Precisely,” said the chief, “The problem is that the story really only focuses on one man, so anyone else would only get to play for a bit and the they’d be done.”

“So what’s this story, then?” asked Quark, as he picked his glasses and dishcloth back up.

“It’s called A Christmas Carol,” said Doctor Bashir, “by Charles Dickens, one of the great novelists of earth’s nineteenth century.”

“I don’t think you’d like it,” said O’Brien, “It’s about a man for whom nothing comes before money.”

“What do you mean I wouldn’t like it,” said Quark, “he sounds like my kind of guy.”

“Yes, at the beginning,” said the Doctor, “but the story is about how the man, his name is Scrooge, changes his miserly ways and becomes a good-hearted and charitable person.”

“You see,” said the chief, “Scrooge is all alone on the night before Christmas, an earth holiday associated with charity and goodwill. Being the person he is, he hates it. But, that night he is visited by the ghost of his business partner Marley, who warns Scrooge that he will be damned, like Marley, by his greed and selfishness unless he reforms.”

“So that night,” said Bashir, cutting in, “Scrooge is visited by three spirits, who show him his Christmases past, present, and future, if he does not change his behavior. He learns he will die alone, unloved, and forgotten because he was so unkind during his lifetime. Realizing he does not want this to happen, when he wakes up he changes his ways and is kind and generous to his family and clerk.”

“It’s not a very Ferengi story, is it Odo?” O’Brien asked across the bar and over to where the constable was standing, leaning slightly onto the counter where the bar opened out onto the promenade.

“No, not very,” said Odo.

“What do you mean it’s not a Ferengi story?” asked Quark, having put down his glass and dishcloth once more and turned so he could face his entire audience at once, “That’s a very Ferengi story. It’s a Ferengi horror story. That’s the sort of story parents on Ferenginar tell their children to warn them about the insidious dangers of forgetting the Rules of Acquisition.” 

“Well, when you put it that way it does sound very much like a Ferengi story,” said Bashir, smiling slightly, “I suppose it’s all in the interpretation.” He turned to the chief. “How about a game of darts?”

“Alright, then. Quark. Odo.” He nodded farewell and the two men got up from the bar and walked over to the dartboard, leaving Quark with only Odo for company. It was still relatively early and the bar was quiet. 

“A Ferengi horror story, Quark? I didn’t think you had those,” said Odo.

“We do indeed,” said Quark, turning back to face Odo, “And they are remarkably similar to that load of human sentimentality. Of course, ours end with the protagonist dying in destitution after his turn away from the Rules of Acquisition results in his utter failure as a businessman. It’s to remind children to avoid charity and sentiment like the plagues they are.”

“Oh, of course,” said Odo, “It’s not a Ferengi horror story, it’s a Ferengi allegory.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I suppose every humanoid race must use some form of allegory to teach its morals and belief systems or at least most do in my observation. That the Ferengi participate in the unsavory practice should be unsurprising.” 

“Hey now, how’s it unsavory to teach children right from wrong?”

“The subjectivity. Your belief system and your interpretation of Doctor Bashir’s story are the polar opposite of his own, and yet to each of you your own views are equally right. And therein lies the problem, while the kind of reasoning used in allegorical tales is useful for propagating belief systems, it is detrimental to the determination of the truth.” 

“Oh, what do you know.”

“Well, that is a very interesting question, but for another time perhaps. But my initial point remains: which is the truth? Are you right? Or is Doctor Bashir?”

“Well, I am, of course.”

“Hrmm,” said Odo.

“What do you mean, hrmmm? I’m right. Of course I’m right.”

“If you say so. You’d better get back to your bar, Quark. You have customers.” Odo nodded at the waiting patrons and turned and proceeded down the promenade without waiting for a reply. 

Quark turned around, stamping slightly in frustration as he began to take and fill orders. He was cross with Doctor Bashir, for bringing up his stupid program, cross with chief O’Brien by association with Doctor Bashir, cross with Odo, for harassing him, and cross with his waiters, sheerly by proximity. He was not cross with his customers. He tried to avoid that—bad for business. But he was especially cross with himself. He had not responded well to Odo’s provocations. Usually he was much better at their repartee, was on his toes for the constable’s attacks. Their constant game of cat and mouse depended on the skill and attention of both sides and Quark knew that if he continued to slip like this one day Odo would catch him in something he really didn’t want to be caught in. Quark never wanted to see that day, both for what it would do to his bank accounts and for the prison cell it would land him in.

Later that night, after the bar was closed and Quark had finally made it back to his quarters for the evening, he was still replaying the incident over in his mind. “Stupid humans,” Quark said, muttering to himself as he got ready for bed, “That optimism and charity of theirs is going to get them all taken advantage of. Humph. A rich man reforming into a philanthropist. And this is seen as a happy ending? What’s the universe coming to.”

Quark climbed into bed and ordered the lights off. Despite the disordered state of his mind sleep came quickly. So did the dream. Quark stood in his bar. It was empty of customers. Outside pedestrians hurried along the promenade but none stopped or entered. Quark walked out into the stream of people.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

The passing figures did not answer, just rapidly continued to destinations unknown. Quark spotted Doctor Bashir approaching down the promenade.

“Doctor Bashir!” Quark said, running up to him, “Doctor Bashir. What’s going on? Where is everybody going?”

The doctor appeared not to hear him, his path continuing unchanged as he strode down the promenade.

“Doctor Bashir.” Quark tried again, louder this time. “Doctor Bashir, I really must insist you tell me what is going on. If it’s a threat to my business I need to know.”

“What do you mean, Quark? A threat to your business? What business? You’ve already been shut down.” The new voice boomed over the mostly silent shuffle of the promenade. Quark looked up to see Odo standing on the second level of the promenade looking down at him.

“Shut down?” asked Quark, “What do you mean, shut down?”

“You were arrested,” said Odo, “Don’t you remember? It’s hard to run a business from prison. And nevermind your assets were confiscated as compensation. You no longer have a business.”

Quark started as the scene shifted from the promenade to a prison cell. “What do you mean I was arrested? What for?”

“Now, you really should remember that. You were there. And now you are here. And no one back here,” the scene shifted back to the promenade, “Cares to remember you at all.”

“Hey now, that’s uncalled for—.” Before Quark could finish his sentence he was started awake. Disoriented, he called for the lights. “Blessed Exchequer, what was that about,” he said to himself. Looking around his quarters Quark tried to determine what had roused him from his nightmare. The tapping from his ceiling took only a moment to identify as the source. “Not again. He does nothing but harass me all day and then I can't even get a decent night’s sleep with him shape shifting around like that.” Quark got up, put on his slippers, and headed out of his quarters and towards the turbolift. The muttering continued. “This is ridiculous. It’s harassment, that’s what it is. I should file a complaint. I’m a legitimate businessman and he spends his time poking his nose into my affairs. As if it were his concern. Humph. You would think he would have more important things to be doing, being the head of security and all.”

This tirade brought Quark to the door to Odo’s quarters, directly above his own. He pushed the door chime. He pushed it a couple more times in his irritation. 

“Enter.” The door slid open and Quark stepped inside. Odo was standing across the room in his usual humanoid form. “What is it Quark? A little late for a social call, isn’t it?”

“Yes it’s late, it’s very late, far too late for all this noise you’re making.” Quark crossed his arms somewhat defensively. “I couldn’t sleep through all the racket.”

“I would hardly call that racket,” said Odo, “No one else complained.”

“Um, hello,” said Quark, gesturing towards his head, “The lobes. They’re sensitive.”

“Ah, yes, of course,” said Odo “That would explain why you regularly call up here in the middle of the night to complain when no one else seems to notice. Well then, of course, you have my sincere apologies and I will endeavor to keep the volume of my activities lower. Very well?” He gestured towards the door, indicating for Quark to leave.

“No,” said Quark, his voice rising with annoyance, “Not very well.” The small smile on Odo’s face made him look self-satisfied and smug and it was getting on Quark’s nerves. “I’m not going to be dismissed with a few empty promises. That’s what you say every time and every time I can still hear you. It’s not enough that you spend all your working hours harassing me, you can’t even let me get a good night's sleep. I ought to file a complaint.”

“Is that what you think I do?” asked Odo, “Harass you?” He was beginning to look more and more put out the more Quark spoke. “It is my job as chief of security of this station to monitor all potential criminal actors—that’s you, by the way—and ensure they pose no threat to the safety of Deep Space Nine. Now, given that you are the most prominent and permanent of the criminal class on the station,”

“Hey, hold up,” said Quark defensively. Quark noticed that Odo had been gradually moving towards him as he gave his speech.

“Given,” said Odo, “that you are the most prominent and permanent of the criminal class on the station, you either are involved in or know of if not all then most of the illicit activities which occur on board. Therefore it is entirely logical for me to monitor your activities as part of my work.” 

“That’s an awfully convenient excuse,” said Quark, “It’s not as if you can prove any of the assumptions which support it.”

“If I had enough solid evidence of your criminal behavior to prove your worthiness as a source of intelligence, you would be in prison and not standing in my quarters making noise complaints in the middle of the night.”

Quark froze as he felt the cold chill of the nightmare from earlier run up his spine. “Would you?” he asked, “Would you arrest me?”

“Of course, what makes you think I wouldn’t?”

Quark shook his head, looking away from Odo. He realized they had managed to almost completely close the space between them. “Nothing,” he said, “Just, you know, just checking. Have to know who to watch out for.”

Quark turned his head to the side and stared at Quark intently. “Quark,” he said, “Have I ever done anything to make you think I wouldn’t throw you in prison if I had the chance?”

“No”

“Right, because I am the head of security and you are a criminal.”

“Alleged criminal.”

“So,” said Odo, ignoring Quark’s interruption, “When I catch you,”

“If you catch me.”

“When I catch you, I will send you to prison for as long as the courts determine. You offend my sense of justice and I will see you punished for your criminal activities. And until that time I will continue to keep watch on you and your schemes until I do catch you.” 

“And what about after?” asked Quark. He was feeling uncharacteristically vulnerable in this conversation. Perhaps it was the dream from earlier.

“After?” asked Odo, “After what?"

“After you have had me arrested and locked away for these alleged crimes, then what? Will you just find someone else to harass?”

“I will continue to do my job, the same as I always do. But,” he said, “I will, as the human expression goes, sleep a good deal sounder at night knowing you are secure in a nice cozy cell somewhere, repenting for your crimes. Or not repenting, as it were. That part is immaterial.”

“Ah,” said Quark, “But you will remember me. If,” he added, “These alleged events ever actually take place.”

“Yes, Quark,” said Odo. He still looked annoyed, but his expression was softer, more conciliatory now. “I will remember you even when you are far off in a penal colony somewhere. In fact, I believe I will do so with far greater fondness than I ever think of you now.”

“Why thank you, Odo. I hate you too.”

Odo smiled. “Now would you please leave.”

Quark let out a long sigh. “Fine. But keep it down up here. You may not need to sleep but I do.” He walked to the door and it slid open.

“Goodnight, Quark,” said Odo.

Quark turned back around slightly. “Goodnight, Odo.”

The next day found Quark, as usual, in his bar. He tried to put the events of the previous night out of his mind and to focus on his work. 

“Hey, Quark!” Doctor Bashir’s voice rang out as he walked into the bar, followed closely by chief O’Brien. The two men were both dressed in large, fleece-lined, leather jackets.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” Quark said, “The Battle of Britain is waiting.”

“Thanks, Quark,” said Doctor Bashir. He dug into his coat pocket and pulled out a data rod. “Here, I got you something.” He handed it to Quark.

“What is it?” Quark asked as he took the data rod.  
“A Christmas Carol,” said Doctor Bashir, “The original version. I thought you might enjoy it.” He smiled broadly and the chief chuckled quietly as the two men turned and headed towards the holosuites.

“Humph,” said Quark, “Thanks but no thanks.” He examined the data rod briefly before tucking it away in his coat. “Who says I’ll be alone and forgotten,” he said, muttering to himself as he set back to organizing the bar. “Utter nonsense.”


End file.
